If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?
I already changed my name, legally, spiritually, emotionally. I changed it with a trembling hand and a voice steadier than it had ever been before. The boy who lived beneath years of being called the wrong name he is why I changed my name. I changed it for the person I became, and the one I’m still becoming. Changing it was never just about paperwork. It was the exhalation after holding my breath for two decades and two-years. It was stepping into my own skin without apology.
So the idea of changing it again… it hits different. There’s resistance there. I chose this name. Axton, like a sword off the wall, like a stone I’d polished myself. It fits the weight of me. It sharpens my edges. Axton belongs to me in a way nothing ever did before.
But if I had to change it? If some strange force or alternate life demanded a new label for my soul. Maybe something natural and weightless, like Lief, a name that drifts like wind through leaves, soft but certain. The type of name whispered in the dark and meant to be remembered. Names with strength wrapped in stillness, with calm in their bones. Names that grow quietly, like roots reaching deep beneath the surface.
Or maybe I’d lean into the names I already carry in my middle spaces. Names no one sees unless I let them. That’s the funny thing about being trans, we become archivists of all the names we’ve worn. Some we buried. Some we still wear close to the skin, even if we don’t speak them aloud.
There’s no name that would ever feel exactly like the one I already chose. Axton is stitched into my story. It’s the signature I sign under every poem. Every spell. The endless love letter to this life I’ve clawed my way into carry the signature.
So sure, I technically it is possible to find another. But it would never be the same home.
